


Like Something Almost Being Said

by outruntheavalanche



Series: Reach Down and Prove Something [3]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Drabble, Future Fic, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Not Beta Read, Spring Training, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: It’s just…a little weird without Mike here, is all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mike doesn't actually appear in the fic, but he's definitely present.
> 
> Title from "The Trees," by Philip Larkin.
> 
> Hover over the Spanish for a (hopefully accurate) translation.

"Baseball is reassuring. It makes me feel as if the world is not going to blow up." — Sharon Olds

Last year is dead, they seem to say,  
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.  
— Philip Larkin, "The Trees"

Ginny finds Livan in the backfields adjacent to the Padres’ sprawling spring training complex. There’s so much green, green as far as the eye can see. Even in the arid deserts of Arizona. Ginny can’t step out of her condo without feeling like she’s on the verge of melting right into the sidewalk. At least it’s not humid like it is in Florida. 

Livan’s not wearing his gear yet, just a simple gray t-shirt and ratty old sweats. He’s got a small yellow note pad under one elbow and a pencil tucked behind his ear. 

Ginny’s still getting used to Livan, still getting used to his quirks because all catchers have their quirks. Say what you want about the kookiness of left-handed pitchers; catchers are just as bad. 

Mike’s off somewhere reveling in his retirement—Tommy told her Mike snapped him from his boat somewhere in the East Bay just the other day—and he’s certainly earned it. But it’s weird without him here always in her ear, nagging her, teasing her, pushing her to be better. Livan will push her too, Ginny’s sure of it. It’s just…a little weird without Mike here, is all.

“Hey,” Ginny says, sidling up to Livan. She follows his gaze to a row of long-limbed, fresh-faced pitchers marching in formation in front of a chainlink fence lined with gaping, screaming fans. Last season it had been Ginny—or it was for a week or so before the Padres booted her to minor league camp.

“Hey,” Livan parrots Ginny’s greeting back at her, eyes still locked on the rookies like a hawk. 

Ginny looks at him out of the corner of her eye, the pitchers melting into a blur in her peripheral vision. “What’s the notepad for?” she asks, nodding toward it.

“Observations,” Livan says, plucking it out from under his arm and flipping it open. He holds the legal pad out to Ginny and she glances down at it. 

**¿Ginny no lanzar los sinker?** Ginny looks up from the notepad and raises her eyebrows at him. 

“What does this all mean?” she asks, holding it out to him.

Livan takes the pad back from her and shuts it. “You ever throw the sinker?” He shifts and curls his fingers like he’s clutching a baseball in his empty hand, and Ginny’s mind supplies the red seams and white leather.

She shrugs. “Not really. I tried to throw one in the minors but I could never get it to go where it was supposed to.”

“Sinker don’t sink?” Livan uncurls his fist and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Sinker don’t sink,” Ginny echoes softly. Her gaze falls back on the cadre of young pitchers, still marching dutifully in the tall grass.

“I’ll teach,” he says, reaching out toward her, offering her his fist.

Ginny knocks her knuckles against Livan’s and smiles at him. He smiles back, dimples grooving cheeks.

She looks back at the row of pitchers. Livan is a comfortable, quiet presence at her periphery. Maybe things won’t be _so_ weird without Mike behind the plate this year.


End file.
